


a little scared you'll leave, even though you tell me you won't

by stephbethallen



Series: lights and sirens [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, a smattering of fluff, just let them get married in paris, sawamura daichi's thighs - freeform, some weird narration going on here bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephbethallen/pseuds/stephbethallen
Summary: EMS Captain Sawamura Daichi was not expecting Suga to be his next patient.(or: a grocery run gone wrong, kageyama on the edge of burnout, bokuto is no good at gambling, and ukai gives his blessing for a marriage)
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Takeda Ittetsu/Ukai Keishin, minor IwaOi, minor bokuaka, teeny tiny kuroken
Series: lights and sirens [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028268
Comments: 31
Kudos: 235





	a little scared you'll leave, even though you tell me you won't

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! if you subscribe to me, you might notice that this is not the first ems AU i've done—there was another one happening, though it's now orphaned but still under my pseud. this was originally destined for that work. check it out if you like!
> 
> this was pretty much born out of me and my emt textbook sitting in a room together for several hours. something was bound to happen. 
> 
> title comes from lizzy mcalpine's [How Do I Tell You?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NP8s-Nou-Gc)
> 
> thank you very much to my beta, [azula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulabay/pseuds/azulabay)! you're the absolute best!
> 
> (cw: car accident and accompanying medical gore)
> 
> (edit 1/24/21: fixed an expository comment to correct a continuity issue in a later fic)
> 
> (edit 2/24/21: fixed an age. wow turns out i _cannot count_ )

Scene size-up is the first thing they teach in paramedicine classes. Daichi knows how to size up a scene. No matter how gruesome or bloody the scene is, he can push down his panic or fear for a short time in order to get his shit done. 

_MVA, four vehicles. Two drivers DOA, one severely injured_ . _ALS needed,_ Dispatch had said. _Unknown status of fourth driver._

It wasn’t immediately clear from the dispatch what had happened. The radio buzzed and asked for their squad to come out and provide support, despite the accident happening outside the precinct, and then Chief Ukai was yelling things and sorting everyone into the trucks. Kageyama would drive Truck #1 with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Daichi, and Hinata would drive #2 with Ukai, Yachi, and Iwaizumi.

Daichi didn’t need any explanation here; they all understood what this kind of situation needed. Ukai would be joining the more experienced paramedics from the other precinct at the scene to take care of the ALS patient. Iwaizumi, Kuroo, and Bokuto would be filling in holes. Kageyama, Hinata, and Yachi, wet behind their ears with their freshly-printed EMT certs, would help if needed but mostly had to _stay out of the way_ and watch the action from a distance. 

Daichi would direct his squad—his family—and he, along with Kuroo and Bokuto, would investigate the fourth unknown driver.

He didn’t know the fourth driver was Suga. He _didn’t know_. Suga had said this morning that he was going to get groceries after he left school and had promised that he would have Daichi’s favorite curry on the table when he got back.

Daichi probably shouldn’t have even been on that call. Ethically, there were issues. But it couldn’t be helped, because _that_ was Suga’s stupid dinky Camry that they had bought three months after they moved in together _,_ and the blood running down the blaze orange aftermarket paint job gleaming in the moonlight was _his boyfriend’s._

“Fuck,” Kuroo breathes as he recognizes everything. 

“Is that—“ Bokuto chokes out, before Daichi yells.

“ _Suga!”_

“GO! Go start assessment!” Kuroo pushes him forward, and then Daichi is stumbling towards the car, falling into the rhythm of a sprint.

It was a lateral crash—t-bone, some people call it. Apparently, the truck that hit Suga had a dead driver beforehand. It was a three-stage collision; someone in a suped-up Charger ran a red light, slammed into the truck and sent it spiraling into the intersection to strike Suga’s from the passenger side. Suga’s car surged forward, then hit the last vehicle—a motorcycle. 

The motorcyclist and the truck driver were DOA. The Charger driver was severely injured and needed ALS.

Suga’s status was unknown. There was debris surrounding him, and no bystanders could get through to check on him. Like usual, the bystanders focused on the dead people.

The Camry is upright—this is good. This will make extrication easier. But Daichi doesn’t miss the star pattern on the windshield, indicating that Suga’s head slammed against the glass during the wreck.

“Star on the windshield!” Bokuto must have noticed it too.

Daichi pushes forward. He needs to get to Suga, even if he’s dead. He needs to get to him.

“Suga?” Daichi yells as he climbs over debris—ripped-up metal, wires, stripped rubber. None of the car doors are open, so he probably can’t hear him anyway. 

Bokuto and Kuroo flick on flashlights. Suga’s there, in the driver’s seat, staring straight forward. His chest is heaving. He’s _alive_.

Blood streaks down his face, down his neck, smearing the window.

“Help me open the door,” Daichi barks. Suga wasn’t leaning on the door, but there’s still a chance that he would fall out if the door were opened too quickly.

Bokuto is there immediately, while Kuroo moves to the passenger side. He already has the short-vest, backboard, and c-collar, plus the stretcher. 

“On three,” Bokuto bellows, because he knows Daichi needs real sensory jolting to function right now. “One, two, three!” 

* * *

“Hey, hey, hey! Suga! Get in here!” Bokuto called from the inner part of the station where he sat at a card table.

“Hey, Bokuto. What are we playing today?” Suga smiled, pulling off his scarf at the entryway.

He rocked back on his folding chair. “Five-card stud!” 

Kuroo grinned, appropriate for their little illegal match they’ve got going. “Got some cash you wanna blow? Only a 200 yen ante. Bokuto isn’t much of a player, but I’d sure give you a run for your money.” 

“Hey!” Bokuto protested, pouting. “I’ve only lost a thousand yen so far, that’s pretty good. I bet I could win it back from Suga, though.”

“You _bet?_ ” 

Suga laughed and waved the two of them off. “No, thanks, not this time. I’ve got my own gamble to play today.” 

“Oh-ho?” Kuroo grinned once more and folded his cards down. “Daichi isn’t here. Want to...I dunno, gossip about him?” 

“Yeah, tell us! Is he any good in bed?” Bokuto grinned as if that’s an easily dismissed, innocent question. 

“What the fuck?” Iwaizumi yelled from the back—his head peeked out from the weight room, where his uniform collared shirt was rolled up and a dumbbell rested in his hand like a feather. 

Kuroo cackled. “Don’t pretend you haven’t wondered what Daichi’s thick thighs around your neck would feel like, Iwa—” 

“No, I _never have_ , oh my God.” 

“I can assure you, it’s pretty fuckin’ good.” Suga interrupted before this got too heated. “But actually, I was here because I was hoping I could speak with Chief Ukai.” 

“Oh.” Bokuto calmed down from his guffaws while Kuroo was still losing it. “He’s doing paperwork. He should be in that last door to the right.” 

* * *

  
  


Bokuto opens the door and Daichi rushes in, hands extended to catch Suga if needed. Thankfully, Suga doesn’t fall out—almost worse, his head whips around in their direction. His eyes are vacant, half-lidded, and he cries out as soon as he turns his neck.

“Suga! Suga, don’t move!” Daichi says, trying to be quiet enough to not cause him pain but get his attention. If he has a spinal injury, which is a big possibility, he shouldn’t move any more than he has to. 

“D-...Daichi?” Suga questions. “ _Daichi?_ ” His face screws up, full of pain, and his eyes search in the dark. 

Blood keeps streaming down his face and neck. _Where is it coming from?_ He needs to know before they start moving him.

“Suga, it’s me, it’s Daichi. I’m right here.” He keeps his voice low and soothing. 

“Daichi...I…” He chokes up. His eyes won’t meet Daichi’s, even as Kuroo’s penlight is shined in his face. 

_Oh, no_.

Daichi makes his best guess as his heart sinks like a fat, scared rock. “Suga, can you see me? I’m here.” 

“I-I can’t see. I can’t see you, I can’t…” Suga whines, then coughs violently. His arms go to grip around his sides, which in turn torques his neck, which makes him cry out even louder. 

“Woah, woah, easy. Stay still. I’m right here. Feel my hands.” Daichi places his hands in Suga’s grip. “I’m here, and so are Bokuto and Kuroo, okay?” 

“I’m here, Sugawara. It’s Kuroo. Here’s my hand.” Kuroo reaches through the passenger door to put his hand on Suga’s forearm. Suga flinches, then relaxes.

Bokuto moves in a little closer. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s Bokuto,” he soothes, so much more calm and quiet than normal. He slides behind the seat, preparing for in-line stabilization. “I’m right behind you. I’m gonna put my hands on your neck and chin, alright? It’s to keep your spine in line. Just relax.” 

“Okay,” Suga murmurs. Bokuto’s huge hands move, and now they’ve stabilized Suga’s neck. 

Daichi grasps at Suga’s hands, trying to provide a presence. “Kuroo and I are gonna check over some things, and then we’re gonna get you out of here, alright?” 

“Please,” Suga says, a hint of wheeze in his breath. 

Kuroo moves in closer and mumbles in Daichi’s ear, “I’ll take pulses. Motor and sensory?” 

“Got it,” Daichi confirms. “Suga, you can hold my hands. That’s great. Can you grip back?” 

Suga complies. His grip is as strong as ever. Cold nails dig into Daichi’s gloves.

“Good, good.” Daichi rubs his cold, cold knuckles. “Can you wiggle your toes?” 

A pause. His feet shift slightly against the carpeting. “Yeah.” 

“What about your hearing?” 

“I think? Everything’s ringing.” Suga flips topics, breath quickening. “It’s just my...I can’t see.” 

“Can you see anything at all?” Daichi asks. The tinnitus problem can wait. “Shadows or light? Any color?” 

“Shadowy. Can’t see anything else.” Suga’s breaths are panicky and shallow. _God_ , he’s in pain. “Little bit of movement.” 

_Okay, well, he’s got a GCS of 15. That’s pretty good, you’ve seen much worse from wrecks and they ended up fine,_ Daichi tries to reassure himself. He keeps gripping Suga’s hands and wills his breathing to slow—Suga can sense if he’s panicked, for sure. They’ve been together too long; they know each other’s tells. “Did you hit your head? Do you remember?” 

“Think so? Dunno. Probably.” Daichi sees his neck muscles flex as he tries to loll his head around, but Bokuto’s hold remains firm. “Hurts. _Hurts_ , Daichi…Daichi, what if I’m fucking _blind?_ How am—How am I supposed to...how am I…the kids at school, the...God, it hurts.” 

_Don’t break down now—not when Suga needs you._ “Can you tell me where it hurts?” 

“Head. Ribs. Neck,” Suga pants with parted lips. “So cold in here. Hurts. _Shit_.” 

“Just hold on for me. Okay? Just hold on, Koushi,” Daichi repeats several times, like a mantra. He has a few guesses as to what’s causing Suga’s pain, but he can’t actually examine him until he’s extricated—he needs Kuroo to finish. “Kuroo.”

“Rapid, steady pulse in all extremities,” Kuroo murmurs after placing fingers on Suga’s neck, wrists, knees, and ankles. Good—that means circulation is okay. “Bokuto, c-collar.” 

“Suga, man, we’re gonna get you outta here real soon, so we gotta put the cervical collar on now, alright? Just chill here. I’ll talk you through the whole thing.” Bokuto’s large hands stay right where they are while Kuroo fastens the c-collar around Suga’s neck. “You’re doing great. Stay relaxed for me.” 

Suga can’t fake cool, collected confidence-–not now, anyhow. His tightening grip on Daichi’s hands gives him away, and so does the whine he lets out when the collar clicks.

“Good job. Kuroo, short-vest,” Bokuto murmurs; Kuroo passes him the rigid, green extrication device. “I’m gonna stick this behind you, Suga, and then it’ll get fastened around your chest and your groin.” 

Suga, barely coherent and probably totally delirious with pain, still laughs breathily and engages his sense of humor. “Enjoy my groin.” 

“I’ll leave that for Daichi-san,” Bokuto responds. It’s almost like the group’s normal banter when they go out for drinks, except the function of Suga’s spine might be hanging in the balance if Bokuto fucks anything up. He clicks the straps around his chest with care, unfurling the torso flaps, and chuckles gently when the groin straps are fastened down.

“Kuroo,” Daichi prompts again.

He doesn’t need more words—he’s already prepared the backboard for transfer, positioning it right next to the seat. “Got it. Forehead strap?” 

“Yup.” Bokuto’s nimble hands move up, velcroing the short-vest forehead straps and wrapping the lower-head straps around the c-collar. 

His hands pause just as he’s about to finish the last strap, near his ear. 

“...Daichi-san, do you see this?” Bokuto holds up a gloved hand. Blood streams down the fingertips. “It’s coming from his ear.” 

**_Shit._ **

“BSF.” Daichi stands back for a moment, still gripping Suga’s hands, but cranes his neck back and yells, “HINATA! KAGEYAMA!” 

* * *

  
  


“Woah! It’s Suga-san!” Hinata slid around the corner as he saw Suga pass. “Hey, Suga-san!”

Kageyama growled from inside the training room, “Get back here, idiot, help me intubate this stupid dummy!” 

“Guys, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a dummy,” Yachi tried to intervene.

“But _Suga-san!_ ” 

“Hey, Hinata, how are you?” Suga waved. “Kageyama, Yachi. Good to see you again.” 

Kageyama nodded politely to his coworker’s boyfriend and Yachi waved, but both continued to focus on the dummy they were working on. 

Suga looked on with curiosity. They were standing over a dummy with a metal piece in its neck. “You guys are preparing for your EMT-A exam, right?”

“Mm-hm!” Hinata nods. “It’s in a month, but we’ll be fine if we can get the intubation down.” 

Suga nods. As a teacher, he could recognize the desperation and slight disappointment in all of their faces as test-related. “I think I remember something about intubation with Daichi when he was doing his paramedicine exam...he’s not very good at it, if I recall.” 

Three pairs simultaneously went wide— _the_ Sawamura Daichi, Field Captain, wasn’t good at intubation? 

“But don’t tell him I said that.” Suga winked. “I’ll leave you guys to it. The Chief’s office is just down this way, right?” 

* * *

  
  


The two boys—that’s all they are, fucking _boys—_ immediately sprint toward them from...wherever they were, probably hanging around the ambulance. For the first time, Daichi sees Kageyama panicked. He looks like he might cry.

“Hinata, get a four-by-four patch from the truck, and Kageyama, get Chief over here. Or any of the other ALS guys, I don’t care. As fast as you can, both of you.” 

“Wha’s goin’ on now?” Suga slurs.

_Slurs_. His GCS score is probably declining as they sit here waiting for more help.

“You maybe fractured your skull, Suga. We just need to check some things out,” Daichi tries his best to soothe him. “But we still need to get you out of here. Stay with us.” 

“‘M here,” he murmurs. 

“We’re setting you down on the backboard so we can get you on the stretcher now,” Bokuto explains, but his voice is hollow and shaky now that he’s noticed the blood from his ear. The blood isn’t really the problem itself—it’s more that blood coming from the ear after head trauma could actually be blood from the _brain_ from a basilar skull fracture. The only way they can know out in the field is a halo test; that’s what the four-by-four gauze is for. When they get a sample of that blood on the gauze, if there’s cerebrospinal fluid in the mix, it’ll distribute like a halo on the fabric. 

But that test is spotty and difficult. He needs a CT scan and an actual neurologist, especially if Daichi’s suspicion that his blindness is coming from pressure on the optic nerve is true. They need to get the hell out of here.

Suga offers no resistance while Daichi, Kuroo, and Bokuto carefully turn and lower him onto the backboard. More straps are fastened and more winces rise from Suga’s pale, bloody throat. 

“Pulses unchanged,” Kuroo murmurs as he checks for circulation again. “We need to get to the truck,” he states, obviously. They start to push the stretcher to the ambulance, careful to dodge the car wreck debris.

“Dai,” Suga murmurs as his hands grip harder on Daichi. His speech is significantly slurred and raspy. His eyes won’t even open now, but he seems to have relaxed now that he’s out of the car and onto the stretcher. “Dai, don’t feel so good. Gonna be—gonna be si—” 

Kuroo and Bokuto manage to have the reflexes to stop the stretcher and flip the board to the side while Suga vomits, hacking and spitting and sobbing. 

Ukai runs up to them at this point, Kageyama trailing behind him. “Woah, woah, woah!” He has to dodge the emesis blocking his path. “Daichi, what’s happening—oh, _shit_.” 

* * *

  
  


“Chief?”

“Sugawara. Hey. Come in.” Ukai put out his cigarette quickly and cleared his desk off of PCRs, memos from the health department, the collection of notes and poetry that Ittetsu had been leaving in his bento, and Jump issues. It wasn’t necessarily uncommon for Daichi’s teacher boyfriend to show up to the station, but he usually came to see Ukai’s Captain, not actually the Chief himself. “What can I do for you?” 

He tightened his necktie and smiled cooly, clearing his throat and saying, “I, uh. Well, I came to ask you for advice.” 

Ukai almost laughed out loud. “I can’t promise I’ll give you _good_ advice, but go ahead, take a seat.” He gestured to the well-loved armchair in front of the desk, where Daichi sits at morning meetings, where Kuroo and Bokuto have received many a lecture for inappropriate use of lights and sirens while on duty, where Iwaizumi would sit to work out his schedule with his JMSDF reserve training, where Hinata or Kageyama or Yachi would squirm as Ukai looked over their resumes. 

“Well, it’s about Daichi,” Sugawara started as he sat. The way he traced the wooden arms of the chair, it was as if he knew Daichi had sat there before. 

“Go on.” 

“I’m...well, I guess it’s a two-part question.” 

Ukai cocked a brow. In any other situation, Sugawara had seemed much more suave and confident. “Oh?” 

“Forgive me for my bluntness, but you and Takeda-sensei are married, right?” Sugawara was blushing scarlet already. 

“Uh, well, not exactly. We’ve thought about it, though.” Ukai rambled slightly—this wasn’t really secret, but he trusted Sugawara wouldn’t blab off to the health department and get him fired, or to the hospital admin and get Ittetsu fired. Ukai does like talking about his Sensei, though, and Sugawara bringing him up made pleasant memories of their relationship cross his mind. Ittetsu was only a resident in the ER when they first met on calls, and now he’s the chief of the whole department. 

Ukai shook his head to clear himself of the proud thoughts he had for Ittetsu. They were distracting him. “Why?” 

Sugawara’s lip-biting silence was answer enough.

“You’re thinking of popping the question with Daichi, huh?” 

The young man gulped. “Yes, sir.” 

“Well, shit, I’m not the right source of info on that. Iwaizumi’s married to that volleyball player, right? You’ll probably find better luck there.” 

“I have talked to him. Several times.” Suga straightened. “I was asking you, specifically, as his supervisor and as a man in a steady long-term relationship with another man, whether Daichi and I should get married.” 

Ukai had to look at him for a moment with a sense of disbelief. The gall of that question—Ukai could see why Daichi was constantly talking about this kid. “Um. Well, as his supervisor, I don’t care one way or the other whether he gets married, but I will say that being in a committed relationship is probably good for him emotionally. He’s in a very stressful job. He’s as steady of a guy as I know, but paramedicine comes with burnout and PTSD, and I’m glad that someone wants to be there for him, no matter what. You would do that, correct?” 

“Yes, sir,” Sugawara answered without hesitation. 

“Then you...uh, you have my blessing in that regard, if that was what you were looking for,” Ukai hummed. “And, uh, as a guy in a long-term gay relationship in Japan, I would say do what works for you. Sensei and I didn’t feel like getting married. We were older than you two when we met, and neither of us wanted the fanfare or the risk of having a public ceremony. But we’re already becoming a bygone generation, and more progressive kids like you should do it if you want. Fly off to Vegas or something. I dunno how it works, but do what makes you happy and what you won’t regret. I didn’t regret not getting married, but Sensei and I have different values than other couples might have.” 

Sugawara’s expression was vague—he seemed a bit hard to read. It looked like an expression of optimism, but it could have easily been one of determinism or false confidence instead. 

“Sorry, kid. I couldn’t really answer your question all that well.” Ukai picked up the cigarette and moved to light it again. “I...do think I’d like to see you and Daichi together for a long time, however that means for you. Invite me and Sensei to whatever ceremony you got, alright?” 

Sugawar smiled— _wide_ and full of joy, making full and intense eye contact. Kinda similar to Ittetsu, actually. 

* * *

“...Chief?” Suga’s eyes flutter open, even if it’s futile and he won’t see his face. 

“Yeah, kid. It’s Ukai. We’re gonna take good care of you.” Ukai’s normally-stone face is even harsher as he looks to Daichi for information. His nose wrinkles. The smell—gas, rubber, blood, vomit—it’s _everywhere_ , almost suffocating.

Daichi spills out sentences, saying, “He’s bleeding from the ear and his vision is...compromised. Only shadows and movement visible. There’s a star on the windshield, and he remembers hitting his head. Complains of head, neck, and rib pain, plus tinnitus. Pulses rapid but steady, motor function’s fine. GCS 15, but right now, it might be more like 13.” Daichi sucks a deep breath in. “I think he has a basilar skull fracture and it’s compressing his optic nerve.”

Ukai’s pressed lips are grim—this is probably the correct diagnosis. “Load him in. He needs to go.” 

“Can you leave?” Kuroo asks, pleading. The stretcher wheels whine and rumble over the asphalt as they run it along.

“Yeah. The other guy’s too far gone. They don’t need me. Iwaizumi and Yachi will stay.” Ukai points to Kageyama. “You’re driving.” 

Kageyama runs to the front, and the three paramedics push Suga in the cabin, all panting and shaking. Though lifting the heavy stretcher is always difficult, the weight of knowing it’s _Suga_ on the stretcher makes lifting it that much worse. 

Hinata, rummaging through the cabinets to look for the four-by-four square, sees them as they come in and visibly stiffens. “S-Suga-san,” he murmurs, eyes wide. 

It’s a miracle anyone could recognize him, really. Suga looks _horrible_ in the stark cabin light—not at all like himself. His face is swollen, almost like it’s oozing out of the c-collar. Under streaks of blood, his skin is turning purple, like a giant black eye over his whole face. 

The stark light inside the cabin that Suga could not see makes Daichi blink a few times as he asks, “Koushi? How’re you doing?” 

“‘M okay...are we inside?” He frowns. “Light changed.” 

_He could see it?_ “We’re inside the ambulance now. The engine’s about to start up, okay? I don’t want it to startle you, it echoes in here,” Daichi tries to explain. “Kuroo, Bokuto, and I are gonna check your vitals now.” 

Kuroo had already fastened the blood pressure cuff on his arm before he read off the vitals machine, “BP, 160/70. Pulse, 110...and I think that’s widening pulse pressure.” 

Bokuto’s eyes flash and he pauses from where he was wrapping Suga in a shock blanket. “Cushing’s Triad? He threw up, too.” 

“His breathing is regular, though, and he’s _conscious_ ,” Ukai counters. “It’s not Cushing’s. Not yet, anyhow. Lift his head, we need to reduce ICP…” 

Daichi shuts their speculation out—he shouldn’t do that, but it’s just _too much_ to face that his boyfriend may die or have irreparable brain damage—and focus on Suga. “I’m gonna listen to your lungs now. Just breathe normally,” Daichi makes a point of explaining. If Suga can’t see, he needs to have everything spelled out for him. 

Daichi ducks down and pops the stethoscope nubs in his ears, starting to auscultate. He pulls Suga’s vomit-stained t-shirt up...his chest is already bruised in the shape of a steering wheel. He probably broke a few ribs. But, Daichi listens to his lungs regardless.

“Lungs clear, breathing shallow, eighteen breaths per minute,” Daichi reports. 

Ukai nods, then waves Daichi off. He leans over the stretcher. “Sugawara, you said you could see the light change. Can you see this?” Ukai waves a hand over Suga’s face. The gloves he wears are soiled with blood, probably from the other driver—he looks at them, frowns, then whips them off and chucks them in the biohazard bucket with practiced accuracy. 

Suga’s pupils definitely _did_ track Ukai’s hand when it passed over. Daichi nearly whines out of relief while Kuroo lets out a long sigh, Bokuto’s nervous fidgeting with the BP cuff tubing eases, and Hinata actually sobs.

Suga’s hand tightens against Daichi’s momentarily. “Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” 

“What was it?” 

“It—hand?” Suga chokes out before coughing weakly. Vomit dribbles down his cheek from before—Daichi wipes it off without a thought.

“Yeah, it was my hand moving in front of your eyes. You tracked it with your eyes when it passed over.” Ukai holds up four fingers in front of his face now. “Bear with me, but how many fingers am I holding up?” 

Suga seems to struggle a little with this one. “Um…” 

“That’s okay. You could see the movement, and that’s a good sign.” Ukai brings out his penlight and shines it in both of Suga’s eyes quickly. “Pupils midpoint, equal, reactive. Your eyes are working just fine, if it’s any consolation. It’s within your brain. When you hit your head on the windshield, you may have fractured your skull, which is putting pressure on the nerve that runs from your eyes to your brain. Your boyfriend’s smart and figured that out.” 

“Hear’t, Dai? Th’best,” Suga pants. His hand grips on Daichi’s again, and he smiles up at the ceiling. “You’re t’best. Best.” 

Daichi has to chuckle as he wipes some of the blood off Suga’s forehead. “Shh, shh, don’t strain trying to compliment me right now.” 

Ukai huffs, smiling grimly as the wheels are turning in his head. “We just need to know what kind of skull fracture you have, now, Sugawara.” 

“Bokuto, did you see a Battle’s sign when you were stabilizing his head?” Kuroo asks. He’s nervous, jumping to conclusions and getting analytical. 

“You won’t see that this early in the game, there’s no time for the bruise to form. Halo test is the only thing we can do in the field,” Ukai corrects. Daichi was right.

On cue, Hinata’s red hair pops out from rummaging in the cabinets. Was he hiding? Who knows. “I got that four-by-four!” 

“Give it here,” Daichi says, trying to be gentle to Hinata, who looks like he might combust from the pressure. “Suga, I’m gonna hold this to your ear, okay? It’s just a piece of gauze.” 

There’s not a response, but Daichi’s too focused to notice that. He gets a bit of blood from his ear onto the gauze, then lets it sit to rest on the stretcher. The blood seeps out.

“Fuck. There it is.” Bokuto points at it, meaty finger shaking. There’s a small halo around the bloodstain.

“Okay, well, there’s an answer.” Ukai sighs. “Sugawara, there’s cerebrospinal fluid leaking from your ear, which means you have a special kind of skull fracture.” 

Suga mumbles something. His eyes stay closed. 

“Koushi? Speak up for me.” Daichi holds his shoulder and squeezes lightly. 

Another mumble. 

_God, what if those are Suga’s last words and Daichi couldn’t hear them?_

“GCS ten,” Hinata murmurs from the corner, like he’s afraid to say it.

Daichi smooths Suga’s hair down, then looks up momentarily. “Bokuto, what’s his oxygen sat look like?” 

“94% and falling,” Bokuto reads off. 

“He needs oxygen support,” Ukai cuts in. “NRB, set it to 12 liters.” 

Hinata rushes over with the oxygen mask, then rushes back to turn the flow valve on. 

Daichi fits the rubber on Suga’s nose and mouth gently. “Breathe normally.”

Suga’s breath doesn’t fog up the mask. 

Bokuto taps his shoulder firmly. “Suga, hey, you gotta breathe, dude.” 

Silence. _He’s apneic._

“That’s Cheyne-Stokes!” Hinata yells suddenly. He starts gathering up the intubation equipment, waiting for Ukai to say the word.

_Oh, God. Oh, God, no, no, no._

“Suga?” Kuroo moves up and pinches his earlobe, looking for a response to stimuli. His eyes don’t flutter open, he doesn’t make any noise, and his face muscles only twitch slightly. “...GCS six.” 

Ukai’s voice reverberates in the ambulance. “Intubate. _Now_.” 

There’s a flurry of movement. Feet on the steel floor. Screeching of brakes when Kageyama slams to a stop. Suga’s blood on Daichi’s gloves. The smell of vomit. The cool metal of the laryngoscope on Daichi’s palm.

Dead silence. Endotracheal tube in his hand. Wet, squishy tongue. Vomit. 

“Suction,” Daichi says without thought as he slides the tube in. 

When he looks up, everyone is staring at him. Daichi intubated Suga, first-pass, without knowing it. His hands just _went_ , and he did it. 

But then he’s pushed out of the way. People in scrubs—a few faces he recognizes from other runs. Takeda-sensei was on him already; good, he’s a great ER doc, that’s good, Daichi trusts him. The ambulance is in the ER loading bay, and Suga’s stretcher is rolling away, away, away. 

Why was Daichi just _standing_ there? Did he black out on his feet? 

It’s Bokuto that wraps his arm around Daichi’s waist in support first. “C’mon, Cap.” 

Kuroo grabs his other side. “We got you.” 

Daichi lets them lead him to the EMS lounge as the tears he was holding back cascade down his cheeks. 

* * *

  
  


They had a modest life. Suga was an elementary school teacher and Daichi was a paramedic, neither of which made for any grand lifestyle, though Daichi’s promotion to Captain helped their financials slightly. They found comfort in the intrinsic enjoyment they had in their jobs, the little moments and milestones they reached together as a couple. Moving into their apartment in the burbs. Buying that used orange Camry. Doing their credit card bills together at the dinner table. Learning how to make each other’s favorite foods. Bringing each other to nights of poker at the station and nights of beer and tempura at the izakaya with a group of Suga’s coworkers—opportunities to show each other off to their friends. Daichi going to the jewler by himself to buy the little silver rings they would wear one day. 

They had their fifth anniversary this past October. 

They had talked about marrying a few times, but it couldn’t happen at home, and Suga seemed slightly guarded about it. The last time they talked about it, they were thinking they might go on vacation somewhere where their marriage would be legal, perhaps in Argentina like Iwaizumi and Oikawa did, but Daichi didn’t want to make it seem like they were copying the two of them. Hinata suggested Brazil as a second option. 

Suga seemed to favor France as of recently. Daichi’s got a little envelope of euros that he keeps in his bedside table, just in case they decide to jet off at a moment’s notice.

* * *

  
  


“Daichi. C’mon, man, you gotta eat something. It’s nine o’clock and I know you didn’t have dinner.” 

Daichi doesn’t move his forehead from his palms, even when Iwaizumi taps his knee softly. 

The couch of the EMS lounge shifts as Iwaizumi stands. “We got granola bars, some chips...uh, Red Bull?” He offers, but Daichi sees his feet shift to point towards where Kuroo and Bokuto were positioned on the couch. “Which one of you numbskulls was supposed to put _actual_ food in here last time we stocked up?” 

“Iwaizumi, hush,” Ukai barks. His fingers tap incessantly onto the little portable laptop as he fills out the PCR— _Suga’s_ PCR, outlining all the bullshit that happened out in the field. “He’s right, Daichi. Get a little something to eat. Some water at least.” 

Kuroo nudges him gently when he doesn’t respond. “I’ll run up to the cafeteria and get you something more appetizing.” 

“No,” Daichi says suddenly as he stands, reaching out to grip at his wrist. “Stay. Please.” 

“Alright.” Kuroo sits back down and rubs Daichi’s back. It would be soothing normally—Kuroo had a knack for that. When they were only EMTs, Kuroo would reach over and ruffle his hair after a particularly rough and gruesome shift, or rub his back when Daichi would report for duty while hungover—but Suga is Daichi’s primary caretaker nowadays. Suga was the one who would pet his hair, trace loops on his back, and kiss his forehead and neck. It sounds like a cliche, but truly, no one could comfort Daichi like Suga could, and it almost feels _wrong_ to accept comfort from someone else right now.

“I’ll text Akaashi and see if he can bring something down,” Bokuto murmurs, low and rumbly. His...boyfriend, friend with benefits, whatever he was, works as an ICU nurse on the third floor. 

“No, don’t bother him, he’s on shift,” Daichi groans. “Gimmie a Red Bull. It’s gonna be a long night anyway, I’m tired of sitting here doing nothing.” 

Iwaizumi gives him this look—the look Daichi knows he gives to patient families sometimes too. The look that screams _you’re clearly hurting and I don’t quite know how to help that, so I’m just going to give you this look that’s halfway between pity and poorly-construed sympathy instead_.

“No, really. I need t-to do something. Chief, let me do that PCR,” Daichi suddenly requests. It’s usually Daichi’s job to do PCRs anyway. 

Ukai doesn’t even look up. “Hell no, kid.” 

Daichi sits back onto the couch again, deflated. He _did_ need to do something while Suga was in surgery. He should be out soon, though, it’s been a few hours. He fiddles with the zipper on his pullover—he had changed out of uniform at some point, he supposes, but this pullover suspiciously reads _Iwaizumi Hajime, EMT-A_ on the breast pocket instead of _Sawamura Daichi, Field Captain_ , and his sweatpants had _Bouncing Ball Corp._ down the sides. He must have raided a few people’s lockers, though he didn’t really remember doing so. Suga was right, he should have restocked his locker sooner. His cleaned pullover is probably still sitting on the dining room table after Suga washed it. 

Kuroo suddenly straightens up, placing both feet on the floor and exhaling sharply. “Do you guys wanna play five-card stud? I can rig the deck so Daichi wins big and Bokuto loses all his money.” 

And Daichi can’t help but agree to play, because _damn_ , what else was he going to do? 

* * *

  
  


“Kageyama, you should really quit using those. Nobody knows how they affect young lungs.” 

Kageyama sneers at Hinata and continues puffing on his vape pen, leaning further against the concrete wall of the outdoor smoking area. “I’m not young. I’m twenty-three.”

That’s all the defense he gives. Yachi’s mouth opens, then closes, and she flattens herself against the wall as if she were a chameleon about to disappear against it. 

Even though they were technically the least experienced of the group, the three of them had seen some gruesome shit. Shootings. Combative patients. Overdoses—a lot of those. They also saw a lot of sad shit. Young cancer patients needing transport. Old Alzheimer's patients who can’t recognize their spouse, much less inform the well-meaning EMT trying to get their SAMPLE history of what they ate for breakfast. 

But nothing was quite like seeing Suga in the wreckage of that accident. Hell, Kageyama didn’t even know him, really. He would hang around the station and Kageyama would acknowledge his presence with a head-nod or a _hey_ like a perfectly normal person would, but frankly, Kageyama didn’t really get any closer to him because he didn’t get why Suga would voluntarily hang out there. It’s not like the station is the most uplifting place in the universe. So why would Suga come? And why did Kageyama feel like he had some sort of connection to him? Some claim to the grief?

Why was Kageyama _aching_ right now? Was it seeing Daichi, their Captain, so goddamn wrecked that he passed out on his feet and Kuroo and Bokuto had to cart him off? Or maybe seeing Yachi break down into tears when she and Iwaizumi caught up with them at the hospital? Or maybe seeing Iwaizumi with his phone clutched to his ear, sobbing as he kept saying his husband’s name over and over again, accompanied by _please don’t ever leave me?_ Or maybe seeing Chief Ukai and Takeda-sensei talk tensely in the loading bay in such a way that indicated to the entire world that things _did not look good?_

Or maybe it was the fact that Kageyama was only _seeing_. Maybe it was that. He only ever saw, never acted, in moments like these. Maybe if he had actually acted he would feel better about it.

In truth, he did act—he drove the damn ambulance, turned the lights on and left the sirens off because Suga had head trauma and there’s no evidence that sirens actually helped ambulances get through traffic faster, but there’s plenty of evidence that it scares the shit out of patients and distracts drivers. 

So he drove with lights but no sirens. He ran through every intersection and didn’t hit anything. He did his job. He acted. 

Did it help anything, though? 

He takes another drag of the pen, holds it inside his lungs until it burns, and lets the vapor out his nose. 

“Kageyama. Let me hit it.” 

Kageyama passes the pen over to Hinata without a word.

* * *

  
  


Daichi fell asleep pretty much immediately once they started playing cards. Maybe he was exhausted or maybe it was the Ambien that Ukai slipped him. Probably the Ambien. Daichi was just surprised it didn’t react violently with the Red Bull. 

He dreamt of...well, exactly what you’d expect him to dream of. Suga. He dreamed of Suga in the Paris lights, on top of the Eiffel Tower, except Daichi didn’t know what the inside of the Eiffel Tower looked like, so it was just the concept. Light danced all over Suga’s features, making the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks shine. He looked out at the city, extended his hand that now wore a small silver ring, wrapped Daichi close to his side, and said, _Can I spend the rest of forever with you?_

Of course, Daichi doesn’t wake up in France. He wakes up on a pleather couch in the EMS lounge of Sendai City Hospital with no ring on his finger and no Suga beside him. 

There is a Kuroo, though, and he’s shaking his shoulder. 

“Daichi, Daichi. Christ, Chief, how many did you give him?” 

“One, I swear to God.” A shuffling of sneakers on the tile and a much firmer hand on his shoulder. “Daichi. Kid. Your boyfriend’s outta surgery.” 

Daichi snaps up at that, sending himself reeling, but Ukai sets his shoulders straight and Kuroo heaves him onto his feet. Daichi’s on the move as soon as Bokuto swings the door open and Iwaizumi herds him along to the elevator. Standing at the door is Akaashi, who nods with a neutral expression. He always looks like that, though, right? 

“Hello, Daichi-san,” The ICU nurse greets with a slight nod of the head. 

“Hi,” Daichi gulps and follows him into the elevator, giving the EMS guys a final nod as the doors close. “Um, are you Suga’s—please tell me you’re Suga’s nurse.” 

“I am. I’ll do my very best.” Akaashi smiles then, expression shifting into one of positivity. “I’m not sure how hard I’ll have to work, though. Suga-san is doing remarkably well, and I don’t anticipate him staying in the ICU for any longer than tonight.” 

Daichi braces himself against the railing on the elevator, breathing out hard. _God_. “Good. That’s great. How—how is he doing?” 

“Takeda-sensei will come by and explain this to you again, but he did have a BSF, you were right. They did surgery and started him on IV steroids, and now the swelling on the optic nerve has gone down dramatically and his ICP is at normal levels.” The elevator doors open and they stride out, but Akaashi stops in the hallway and looks Daichi straight in the eye. “Of course, Takeda-sensei isn’t in the business of making promises, but he said there’s a high chance Suga-san’s vision will be restored when he wakes. You and the rescue squad were fast enough. From what I heard, he probably would not be with us right now if you hadn’t reacted so quickly.” 

Daichi sits there and stares at him for the moment, unsure of how to react. It may have been the Ambien still coursing through his body, but Akaashi just told him he _saved_ Suga, which is totally not true. Regardless, that was very, very good news, but Daichi wouldn’t feel good until Suga could wake and open his eyes and see Daichi perfectly fine. 

Akaashi senses his hesitance and starts moving him along again—he knows seeing Suga is the only thing Daichi really needs now. “He also said Suga broke a few ribs, though none of them punctured a lung. No sign of internal bleeding. His eardrum burst, as you saw, but the hearing in that ear should recover. He might have tinnitus for a while, though.” 

“His ICP was raised for a while—I mean, he had Cushing’s Triad and everything,” Daichi rushes out. “Do you—do you know anything about lasting damage?” 

Akaashi smiles comfortingly—the look that Iwaizumi tries to achieve but can’t. “Takeda-sensei seemed to indicate that there would not be any severe problems. He was actually lucid about an hour ago and there didn’t seem to be any abnormalities—he was able to identify himself, the date, his address, and _you_ , and his pupil tracking was normal. He might need glasses to compensate if his vision doesn’t fully return, but we can’t know that until he’s fully lucid. He should be conscious right now, though. He was sleeping when I left to get you.” 

“I—Christ.” Daichi laughs for a beat, unable to stop himself as emotion boils over inside him. _Glasses. He only needed glasses._ “That’s good. That’s really good, right?” 

Akaashi nods, professionalism flowing off of him in waves, but one could tell by the glint in his eyes that he would be cheering _kanpai!_ with Daichi in the foreseeable future. 

Akaashi’s slim legs in scrubs swish a bit more until they come to Suga’s room; it’s one of the smaller ones on the ICU floor, reserved for patients that would be discharged soon. Yet another good sign.

“Takeda-sensei will be in soon. No more visitors until after 7 am, though we could probably bend that rule if Suga’s up for it.” 

Daichi is vaguely aware of Akaashi saying a few more things and closing the door behind him, but mostly all he can focus on is Suga’s silhouette on the bed. He’s not quite as slim as when they started dating, but he still looked a bit small against the wide frames of the bed. He must have been extubated at some point—only a Venturi mask sat on his face while his chest rose and fell in a normal rhythm. The c-collar has been removed, and his neck has been cleaned of blood. The swelling on his face had decreased dramatically, which Daichi was eternally grateful for, but the bruising around his eyes would probably stick around for a good while. Gauze has been taped to his ear to catch cerebrospinal fluid and the back of his head has been shaved to make way for an incision; Suga will probably be mad at that. Maybe he can do one of those undercuts. 

Daichi settles into the chair closest to the bed and grasps Suga’s limp, IV-taped hand, bringing it up close to kiss and rub it until it warms. “Hey, love,” he whispers. “Sleep if you want to, but I’m here.” 

Suga immediately begins to stir, though Daichi braces his head with his other hand to keep him from moving around too much. Suga’s pale cheek comes to rest in his palm comfortably and Daichi almost figures he’ll settle into that position and not wake up.

But, of course, Suga doesn’t ever do things halfway. His eyes flutter open and he stares at Daichi’s hand for a moment.

Daichi rubs the thumb of the hand against his cheek ever-so-gently. Suga’s eyes drift up without any auditory prompting, and suddenly they’re making eye contact—the last time they did that was when Suga kissed him goodbye the morning before. 

“You’re here,” Suga murmurs. He blinks, but the eye contact stays. “You’re kinda blurry, but you’re here.” 

“I’m here.” Daichi kisses the hand in his again. He has a million things to say, but he figures he might as well let Suga lead. 

Suga looks up to the ceiling and sighs quietly, then looks straight at Daichi again and grins mischievously. “I had the strangest dream.” 

“Oh?” Daichi chuckles quietly. Here comes a morphine-saturated joke. 

“Yeah. And it might have been real, too.” Suga pulls with the hand Daichi is holding, letting both of Daichi’s hands cup his cheeks. “I went to the grocery store, got in a car wreck, and then I woke up here and you proposed to me. Or maybe it was the other way around, I’m not quite sure.” 

Daichi can’t help but duck his head and blush. “I don’t remember that last part happening.” 

“Maybe _you’re_ the one with the brain injury.” 

“Maybe I am.” 

They rest for a beat of comfortable silence. Suga had both of Daichi’s hands comfortably cradling his cheeks, essentially immobilizing Daichi in this position of mutual comfort and reassurance. 

Suga breaks the silence with a small hum. “When are we going to France? I've got a question to ask you.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> oikawa plans out their entire parisian wedding down to the suit fabric and the blades of grass under their feet at the altar
> 
> did you like this? i'm thinking about making this a series! let me know any ideas you have for this!


End file.
